


The Grounding Rod

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Broken Saber [11]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6923602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe needs some help coming back to normal life. Kylo more than understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grounding Rod

**Author's Note:**

> And the conclusion. Sorry it took so long...

Aboard the stolen shuttle, with blaster-fire scorching the hull the moment the Force-users can no longer hold minds back, Kylo manhandles Poe into the makeshift medical bunk. Which Poe doesn’t want. He wants to be up front and _flying_ , not lying down and taking the careful, caring hands. He’s been chained up too long, and he needs to _be free_.

“Please, please, just let me check you over,” Kylo insists.   


“I’m fine. You saw everything, already.” It came out sharper than he meant, and he sees how Kylo pales and takes a half-step back, and… he reaches a weak hand out for Kylo’s wrist, grabbing for it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“If there was another way, I would have done it.”  


“You saved me, Ky. You saved me, and you _asked_ me, and I said yes. And I would still say yes.”  


“I just needed to get you safe.”   


Poe smiles. “You got me. I’m here.” He reaches out for Kylo’s face, stroking the knuckles over his cheek, frowning at the wince. “Are you hurt?”

“I…”  


“Kylo?”  


Eyes flicker away, and Poe tries to sit, but is pushed gently back down. 

“My face… isn’t… it isn’t… you don’t need to pretend it’s okay.”  


“…I literally have no idea what you’re s– Ky?”  


His lover wanders off, and Poe watches in confusion as he goes over to the… mirror? And starts examining his face. Which is weird, and does not (does) have Poe wondering if he even is still in some weird, Snoke-induced nightmare. 

“Kylo?”  


“…I… I thought…” He turns around, brown eyes confused.   


A little noise, a clearing of the throat, and it’s Luke. “Like I said, Kylo, not… all Dark-side abilities… are always bad. Like your old namesake and his mind tricks, perhaps you found a way to use the lightning for good. Although I will admit, I was surprised when you did it.”

“So was I,” Kylo says, and steps away from the mirror.  


Oh. Now Poe gets it: he thought his face had twisted, thought in fighting fire with fire that he’d fallen forever into the Dark Side. He chokes a noise, and holds his arms out, demanding Kylo come back. When he does, he pulls him to his chest, wrapping tight around him, hands in his hair. It sort of hits him, then. Hits him that _Snoke is dead?_ Snoke is dead. He’s safe. Kylo has him. **Kylo is safe**. Everyone is safe.

“Your face never changed in all the time you were gone, Kylo. Remember that.” There’s a pause, and then the Jedi adds: “I’ll go speak with Rey, she will need my support.” He catches their eyes, and then leaves with soft discretion.  


“I - I–” Poe is rarely at a loss for words. Rarely struck dumb, but right now he is. Nose behind his ear, and he holds on with all the power in his upper body.   


“It’s okay. We’re safe,” Kylo whispers.  


“You came for me.”  


“Of course I came for you.” Kylo snorts, and hands are in his hair. “I’d always come for you. It was just lucky everyone else said they’d come, too, or I’d have done it on my own.”  


“I… is this really real?”  


“It’s really real.”  


“How…?”  


“How… do you tell?” Kylo shuffles, and Poe finds himself leaning back into his lover’s chest, huddled in the small space together. Kylo pulls Poe’s hands onto his own, and strokes them, softly. “It’s hard, to start with. Working out what’s real, what’s memories, what’s… false memories. What’s… imagined… but you get there. Slowly. It becomes… easier to tell what feels right, with what’s around you.”  


“Was it… like that… always?”  


“…most likely. I mean, I don’t know what he did to you, and he… it wasn’t always, all bad. It… started slow, and like a trickle. Sometimes it felt good, sometimes it felt like it would be nice to go to him, and…” Kylo’s arms hold tighter. “Sometimes - sometimes not. And it became hard to work out what the thoughts were, if they were… mine, or his. Or if they were now mine, but because of him. Like, had he broken me so I thought that way…”  


Poe can’t imagine how it would be to feel like that, for so long. For… “…when did it… uh, start?”

“As long as I know for certain. I don’t… it’s hard to tell. It always felt…”  


“When… when we were friends?”  


Poe has to watch his face, even as Kylo looks away. The smallest of nods, and his stomach lurches all over. His friend. His best friend. The boy with the soft smiles and quiet voice (and fast temper), the boy with the maturity in his tone, the way of just looking deep inside (and so closed off with his own thoughts)… no wonder that boy had been reserved. No wonder he’d found it hard to connect, to socialise. No wonder he’d been devastated when he was sent away from his family, to train. He remembers young Ben being terrified of the idea, and he wonders if it was the quiet - the silence - the emptiness waiting for a _voice_ that is what finally…

He’s not going to cry. No. A weak fist punches at Kylo’s shoulder, not to injure, just - just - 

“He’s gone,” Kylo says, taking the hits like he should.  


He shouldn’t. He’s as much a victim as any of them. Poe remembers how it felt for Kylo to be inside his mind, on the _Finalizer_ , remembers the anger and the disgust and the hatred that had poisoned him all the way to the core afterwards. That had turned him nasty, made him lash out. Remembers how only a few hours had made - had -

Poe wants to scream, but instead he forces himself tighter into Kylo’s arms, and they rock, slowly, back and forth. Regret and guilt - even if his anger had felt justified, at the time - rise like curdled milk in his throat, and he hisses in frustration.

“It’s okay.”  


“It’s not okay.”  


“Alright,” Kylo agrees, “…but it can be. You showed me that, remember? You showed me that. So let me show _you_.”  


Poe doesn’t know why he gets to be worthy of that, not after everything, but he nods. He - wants that. Wants to feel okay again.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  


“You don’t need to be, but, if it helps, then you can be. And I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me.”  


“Always,” Poe whispers, and lets Kylo stroke and pet his hair. He’s so very, very tired.  


***

Kylo tells all the medics that Poe is fine, and they can come to the house to tend to him. He _carries_ Poe back to their rooms, and gently lies him in the bed. Surrounds him with pillows, and then allows the medics to feed him Bacta and fluids and clean and tend to the minor abrasions he’s suffered. The majority of the trauma is emotional, combined with exhaustion and stress, rather than blunt force or external injuries. Kylo fusses until they leave, and then he dotes upon Poe until Poe yells at him to stop.

“I would, if you’d sleep.”  


Poe’s eyes flash fear, and then Kylo understands why Poe is fighting so hard.

“I’m exhausted, but not tired,” Poe lies.  


“I could help you. I could make sure you dream of pleasant things,” Kylo offers. “Unless you want to work… through what happened to you?”  


“Pleasant sounds nice,” Poe says, aggrieved but also relieved. “Please.”  


Kylo climbs into bed behind him, and spoons around with all of his long length. “Pleasant it is.”

***

Controlling dreams is not the easiest thing. A sleeping mind is an illogical mind, filled with trips and tricks of its own. Kylo follows Poe in, keeping his own mind from slipping too far from himself, to make sure he can do what he promised. 

It starts in the cockpit, back where this must have happened. Hands that move without control, and a rising sense of distress. Kylo slides his own hands over Poe’s, pushing heat and light into them, helping him regain control of his movements. The ship would be too small for them both in reality, but in the dream, Poe simply sits on his lap. 

“You can fly us where you want us to go,” he murmurs, and then he lets go of Poe’s hands.  


“Anywhere?”  


“Anywhere.”  


***

Yavin IV is louder in Poe’s memory than it is in Kylo’s. Or… louder in different ways. Where Kylo remembers the sound of people, the thrum of old power… Poe remembers the birdsong, the smell of fruiting trees, the heat of the sun. It’s interesting to see things from a less-Force perspective without the distractions his own mind perceives. Maybe these things are Poe’s distractions.

They walk, side by side, through a place Kylo remembers dimly, at best. Long, long ago. Poe’s been here more recently, though the memories are keen to them both. Kylo realises his own were focussed on a boy who glowed in the Force, a smile and a laugh and kind eyes. He remembers less of _place_ , more of **person**. The man next to him does smile, but not with the innocence of youth, not any more. There’s a filter of darkness - no - not darkness. Like a flimsi sheet made yellow with age, or like a ship carrying a layer of life on its hull. Not darkness in the moral sense, but deeper, richer colours. A varnish making the underlay pop.

Kylo walks with Poe to the tree outside his family’s house, and they stand there. Through Poe’s eyes, it doesn’t glow. Strange. Kylo remembers how it felt not to have the Force for himself, and oddly this half-memory of that doesn’t distress him. Poe sees things perfectly well without the Force, and although Kylo doesn’t want to lose it ever again, he thinks maybe he could find a way to live with birdsong and fruitsmell.

***

When Poe wakes, he finds he’s tangled utterly in Kylo. He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but he needs to piss like a Rancor, and soon. He wriggles, and is allowed out of the bed and Kylo hardly stirs.

Out, and relieve himself. A splash of cold water to his face, and… no. Shower. He needs to shower. He does it as quickly and efficiently as he can, then grabs a glass of water and wanders back in, sipping it. Kylo has shuffled in bed, sitting a little more propped up. His boyfriend looks tired, but not the bad kind of tired. He’s a good colour, with just bleariness around his eyes and a yawn in the corner of his lips. Poe slinks back into bed, and wriggles himself against his side. An arm comes up and over, trailing around his neck and letting fingers walk over his bicep. 

“You okay?” Poe asks.  


“I should ask _you_ that.”  


“…well. I am. So: are you?”  


Kylo smiles, and cuddles him in to breathe at his hair. It tickles, a little, and he fights a tiny giggle at the sensation. “I’m fine if you are. You had me so worried.”

“I had _you_ worried? How about me? I was pretty worried about me, too.” Poe tries to quip, to remove some of the sadness, the pain and sorrow. “But it turns out I was fine.”

“Yeah?”  


“Yeah. This Force-sensitive can’t get enough of me, apparently. So besotted with me that he came charging in like some muddy-grey Knight in battle-dull armour.”   


“Sounds like a good person.”  


“Oh, he is. I mean, not _wholly_  good. No one is _wholly_ good. For instance: he has cold feet in bed.”  


“A capital offence,” Kylo agrees.  


“Yep. And also he doesn’t know how good he _is_ , which is annoying. He still thinks he’s a villain, when he’s not. He’s… well. Same as anyone on the good side. Maybe he did some stuff in the past, but maybe he did the best he could, considering.”  


“I’m not sure anything can be considered against some crimes, Poe.”  


“No?” Poe shrugs. “Sure, they were bad things. But if he made the least bad he could, while he was - you know - tortured and bullied and broken?”  


Maybe he’s gone too close to the line, with that. Maybe he’s said a bit too much, because Kylo looks sad and… lost, for a moment. 

It won’t do. Poe grabs his chin, and pulls him around to make eye-contact. “Kylo… I get it, now. I think. I mean, better than before. I’m not saying you didn’t do stuff, I’m saying… I’m saying I probably would have done the same, under your circumstances. Hell, most people would. And… it’s… you hurt me? And I was mad, but… that doesn’t mean I can’t empathise with you, or forgive you…”

Kylo’s eyes won’t meet his, but there’s a nervous twitch in his lip. “…call it… even? Then? The saving, against… the other thing?”

“Call it more than even. And call every day you help someone else, or save someone else, or _teach_ someone else… another line erased, until there’s nothing in you but empty space. Empty space for all the smiles sent your way, for all the thank-yous and happiness you put out there… to be stored in you.”  


“I’m supposed to be comforting _you_ ,” Kylo huffs, shaking his face clear of Poe’s hand, and then bundling him into a tight hug. “I love you.”  


“Yeah, well… I love you, too. And hey, who’s to say me making you happy doesn’t make me happy, making you happy, making me–”  


Kylo kisses him to stop him. Poe beams wider. It still hurts, a bit, but he’s safe. Warm. Cared for. **Loved.**

They both are.

***

There’s no hurry for them, not now. Mandatory recuperation for at least a week (combined medical and General’s orders), with light socialising and _no work_ other than the briefest of reports to file. 

Kylo’s report was longer. He decided to cover as much for Poe as he could, so Poe didn’t have to. His mother seems not to mind, knowing how closely bonded they are, and that Poe will have told Kylo anything important. Poe’s report ends up being barely three paragraphs, and then they’re obligation-free for a week. 

Poe complains at first about being grounded, but after a flash-memory of his hands not his own at the controls and he realises that - even if he’s physically fit for it - it will take time to recover fully. He can do it, though. Kylo managed to get the Force back, after years of abuse, and Poe only suffered a day or two. He has been told how long he was gone, but his mind stretches and compresses the memory of time passing there, and sort of locks out his internal black box if it’s mentioned. In a way, he doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to know how long he really was in hell, in case it’s too long (and therefore he can’t remember everything and he worries what he’s forgotten) or too short (and him blowing this so far out of proportion is soul-destroying). 

Kylo managed it, so Poe can, too. He’ll fly _Black One_ again, he’ll know he’s in control, and it will be fine. All fine. Just… not straight off. 

Maybe an A-Wing, first. Or a small shuttle. Get him back off the ground, but with company, with a safety net. BB-8 won’t mind the delay in getting back into the X-Wing, he’s sure. Poe doesn’t mention this to the General, or even to Snap. He doesn’t _need_ to tell Kylo, because he _knows_ , and he tells his medical professional and it’s all… fine. A bit busted and bruised, mind and body, but not broken. Just shaken.

People come and see him, and tell him they’re there for him, and congratulate Kylo on helping take down Snoke, and Poe finds every day they’re home to feel a little warmer, a little safer. 

It’s… nice.

The Order’s scrambled, torn within, but still lashing out in death-throes. He wishes he could help hammer the last nail in that coffin, but then he remembers he kind of helped (sort of) in defeating Snoke, so… maybe he gets a pass? Just for a week. Even if he’d have preferred to bomb the ship and see it explode than what happened. 

No rushing. No… rushing. Snoke is dead, the Order is following, there’s no monsters either under the bed or in the closet… and for all it’s been harrowing, it’s… freeing, too. Kylo seems brighter. He seems more level, less afraid. Poe drinks in that confidence, knowing it means he can have it, too. 

They’re… free. They’re together. The Dark did its best, but it couldn’t keep them apart forever. They’re bound, and they’re… happy.

Poe curls into Kylo as they watch a holo, the remains of dinner with friends almost faded in his belly to that lethargic, languid heat. The one that says _sleep_ , but not really. _Doze_ , maybe. Fingers in his hair, and he remembers how they came together the first time. Furious, frustrated and disconnected. A man cut off from the Force, and another cut off from an old friend. He’d been so indignant about the lack of an apology, so caught up in his own trauma… looking back, he’s sort of ashamed of his initial behaviour, but not much after that.

And maybe he needed to. Maybe he needed to be an ass, too. Maybe that’s his burden to bear: he’s not the nice guy, all the time, that people think he is. He can be petty, and angry, and selfish, and drunken, and argumentative, too. Not often, but sometimes. 

The snuggle continues for a long time after the holo finishes, and neither of them seem to want to make the first move. The need slowly rises between them, like the warmer currents under a bird’s outspread wings, coasting them up, but not sending them out of the atmosphere. A hand on a knee, a thumb against the edge of a smile, and they turn to trade kisses like secrets. Poe doesn’t have to reach as much when they sit, but he still uses Kylo’s hair, tangling one hand into it and holding him pressed down for access. Side by side, thigh to thigh, and he licks roughly over Kylo’s mouth until the younger man’s lips part enough. He licks the inside of them, then traces all the teeth he can reach, gulping down the moans and feeling the hand on his waist like it’s on fire. It doesn’t move, but it doesn’t need to, and it makes Poe’s belly lurch like he’s just done a nose dive and cut the sublights, using gravity to pull him closer.  

Hands still, and the kiss goes in and out. Poe’s eyes close as he tastes the day and the happiness in Kylo’s mouth, his breathing going faster, rougher. Poe almost doesn’t want to take this any further, to keep it at this level for as long as possible. His eyes soften at the finger-rubs in the dip of his spine, and he turns more firmly towards him.

“You want to take this to the bedroom?” Kylo asks.   


Which, Poe knows, is Kylo-speak for ‘here, or somewhere bigger?’ and is totally fine with him. The question. Is. And so is the answer. “I’ll take it anywhere you want it, babe.”

“…your seduction technique is still one of your… best qualities,” Kylo snarks, lips curling widely. “Was that a ‘fuck me’, or a ‘let’s fuck wherever’?”

“…well, if it works, don’t knock it,” Poe suggests, and then decides it’s time to move. Out of Kylo’s grip, and to his knees in front of the couch. He grins, and puts his head against Kylo’s thigh. “So… this work?”  


“…uh… _yes?”_ Except it doesn’t sound like Kylo’s against it, but more ‘why are you even asking’, which was more what Poe was going for.   


He smirks, and pushes his cheek against his leg, hands stroking the outsides of his thighs, a soft little hum in his throat as he nuzzles higher and higher. Kylo’s reduced to hissing and gently prying at his hair, and the small sting is pleasant and enticing. Poe turns to bite at his inseam, all the way up to his groin, and then shoves his face full on into Kylo’s crotch. And sniffs.

Which makes Kylo laugh, and makes Poe smile. He smells of sex and love and home, and Poe rubs stubble-scrubby skin into the dark fabric. “Any objections to me sucking you dry, babe?”

“ _None_ , except for the part where you’re under the impression I can wait?”  


Poe beams, and moves to unhitch and unfasten fabric, pushing things away like giftwrap hiding his birthday present from him. And what a nice birthday present it is, he thinks, as he sees the tented fabric below. Kylo has such a lovely, long cock. When it’s hard, it flushes to match his cheeks, and it rises in a salute, ready for whatever they want to do. Right now, Poe wants to swallow it whole, but he instead strokes the fabric over it, taking his time. 

Especially because Kylo is less patient, and has already expressed his frustration. Poe curls fingers and thumb around him, sliding the dark, silky fabric over similarly soft skin. The agitation makes his lover bead a pearly drop or two of precum, and it stains dark fabric darker still, makes Poe’s mouth water in anticipation.

“Gotta make sure I do it right,” Poe insists, eventually, pulling down the boxers and flat-tongue licking from balls to tip in one go. Over, and over, and over… he presses Kylo’s cock into his belly with his lapping, the pressure intensifying every time he reaches the crown. He knows if he wiggles his tongue just _there_ , that Kylo will whine and his right foot will jiggle. He does so, rewarded for his efforts by a squirming lover. His lips seal around the head, and he gazes up at him.  


Did he ever think his life would be this? Knelt between the legs of the most powerful Jedi - Dark or not - known to the galaxy, right now? Ben Organa-Solo, the boy he’d fell for, when he was too young and stupid to know really what love was. Ben, who’d been his best friend, but more. Ben, who’d broken under an impossible wave, and still held on to enough pieces of himself to come back and be this - this… _broken_ thing, but gloriously broken. Scar tissue in places like a painting, and bones healed stronger over, and so full of love that even the Darkness itself couldn’t consume his Light, not really. 

Their gaze locks, and Poe puts his tongue out, then lets the head of the shaft settle on it, and laps harder and harder. He finds his hands grasped, locked, palm to palm. A circuit closed, a promise and a request. 

“I love you,” Kylo says, and Poe feels a tightness in his chest that is stronger than any flightsuit harness he’s ever worn.   


The urge to answer flippantly rises, but instead he tries to blaze all the love and adoration he can through what Kylo can sense. He knows his lover picks up on very strong emotion from _anyone_ , and he knows it’s even louder when it’s him. Love, love, love. Love of everything, a knowledge and a surety. Not childish devotion, but a mature knowledge of what they both can do to fuck up, to hurt, and still wanting more. Trusting that the net result will always be in debitand not  **deficit**. He pours his affection out and suckles over Kylo’s cock, head dipping down as he takes as much of him in his mouth as he can. Hands locked, he can’t touch the base, so he just goes until there’s a pressure at the back of his throat and his eyes stream madly in protest. His body can shut up, though, because Kylo makes the most _delicious sounds_ right now. 

Seriously. Kylo goes from ‘hissy little breaths’ to ‘broken, shameful moaning’ to ‘yowling, howling sex demon’ if you play him right: he’s this too-attentive, too-responsive instrument… no. He’s a ship. He’s like a TIE: all screeching and responding to the slightest touch. Poe wonders if it’s just because Kylo never really had a lover before - and definitely not ever one with an emotional investment in him - or if he’s just _like that_. Always was a sensitive soul, even as a kid. 

Kylo starts trying to hump into his throat, then, bucking under him and threatening asphyxiation. Without his hands, Poe grunts and struggles, and then eventually lifts up and off. Pants and all are pushed down towards Kylo’s ankles, and then throws himself lower, licking over Kylo’s balls and pulling them into his mouth, one at a time. Kylo likes that, because he drums _both_ heels, and Poe wonders what he’ll think if he licks… lower. A firm, flat tongue over his taint, kneading and massaging, stimulating his prostate through his body: the pleasure more blurred and indistinct, there. Kylo stops breathing, and Poe rewards him by shoving his tongue right into his hole.

Which gets him thighs clamped tight around his face, and a Dark Jedi who freaks out like an untamed Tauntaun, and Poe takes the knees to his cheekbones and then whatever Kylo does next as he starts to fuck his tongue slowly - but firmly - in and out of him. He’s clean (Kylo is overly fastidious, even more so now they’re fucking regularly), and so it doesn’t worry him in the slightest as he pulls out to lap and circle his clenching hole. Kylo’s nearly melted into the couch, and their hands stay joined as he starts to fuck him again.

“P-poe! Maker… ohhhh Maker… oh… _fuck_ but I want you in me…”  


Kylo is not particularly good at either asking for things, or for sexy, dirty talk. Poe is pleased he’s trying, and he laps one more time before looking up. “You sure, babe?”

“Poe Dameron, if you do not fuck me blind in the next five minutes–”  


“Who says I wanna go that fast?”  


“I say _I_ want you to.”  


“…you didn’t ask nicely, though…” Poe grins, even as he feels under the couch for the emergency lube bottle. “Your seduction technique is–”  


“– _working_ , isn’t it?” Kylo’s eyes flicker with amusement, and he slams his heels down on Poe’s back.   


Poe laughs, and seals his lips around the soft skin of Kylo’s inner thigh. He suckles, building the pressure by degrees. He’s more delicate, there, and the love-bite he’s gulping into existence will sting when he walks, stands, sits. Kylo gets off on that, he knows, and he pushes the first - middle - finger in to the palm. 

Which makes Kylo yell, and sends more heat through Poe in response. He bends it, slowly, and then moves to lick over his dick at the same time. Kylo always begs him to stop that, unable to cope with the double stimulation, but desperate for him not to stop all the same. Sure enough, there’s begging and he rewards every half-octave up with more intensive suckling and slurping, his second finger going in and his hand making the tight curve of his ass-cheeks wiggle and bounce with every rough gesture. 

The hands go back to his hair, neck, shoulders… and he loves feeling them on him, but will love them even more when he’s inside of him, when he makes their connection complete. Poe doesn’t care who gets to do what to whom, he just wants all the distance between them to last only seconds between each thrust up and _in_ of one to another. He fingers him harder, Kylo rocking back into the couch with every push, and his sock-clad feet pawing at the floor, at Poe’s back, at his waist, ass, trying to encourage more. Three fingers, fat and spread, and he bites hard on the bruising mark, making Kylo _yell_ , and then their eyes meet.

“ **Fuck me right now, Poe, or I swear by the Force I will end you**.”  


Poe’s lips curl back, a flash of his white teeth. “Will you?” he asks, and then uses his thumb below Kylo’s balls, unerringly finding and massaging his prostate again.

Kylo retaliates with the Force. All of a sudden, everything in the room starts to shake. There’s a pressure inside of his mind, but it isn’t being _forced_ , it’s Kylo flooding him with the need he feels. He could - of course - make Poe do anything he wanted. Poe might even not object (he’s not sure), but instead he relies on letting Poe make the decision under the hunger of his own need, and Poe can’t think of anything hotter. 

“Want my dick in you, Ky?” Pants are kicked and pulled from ankles, and Poe puts one foot on the ground, then grabs behind one of Kylo’s knees, bending it into him as he rises. The other hand still fucking him with force, their eyes locked in challenge.   


“I want all of you.” His lover shakes his head, setting his hair tumbling into his eyes, peering up at Poe as he hovers above him. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t think of anything but you.”

Poe’s grin is feral, his eyes lit with hunger, and he leans towards his mouth. “Beg. Me.” Fingers in as far as they go, just spreading and stretching him inside, stimulating him with rough swirls against his walls, pulsing wider and then tighter and chasing the squirms and hisses.

“ _Please_ , Poe! For the love of the Force, **please** would you fuck me?”  


Oh, that’s downright _wonderful_. Hearing the desperate hunger, the way Kylo’s voice does that little thing where it shakes even as it’s strong… Poe nods, and pulls his fingers out. “Hold on.”

He means ‘to me’, and Kylo works it out. A hand on the back of his neck, the other pressed against the small of his back, and Poe shoves a hand into his pants, fly open enough to pull out his dick, lining it up for the onslaught. A single moment more - just there to revel in the knowledge of what’s to come - and then he slams in with all the strength he has. Slams in and the sound Kylo makes when they’re finally back together is like colour coming back to the world. Another moment to enjoy it, but this one’s shorter, and then Poe’s riding his lover for all he’s worth.

Kylo holds on, fingernails digging fresh begging into the nape of his neck, the pain a sweet demand, and Poe rewards him by holding the back of the couch and Kylo’s bent leg to drive in at a pace that won’t last long for either of them. His beloved’s body swallows him whole, tightens and grips him, and Poe shifts his footing until he can angle better, until he can tilt his hips and slam into Kylo’s prostate with each rut. The lingering sense of _feeling_ through the Force means he can judge just how close the younger man is, and he bites his mouth, kissing - well… no. Fucking his tongue into the warm depths, licking a fierce stripe inside and thinking the same thought over and over in his head: _come for me, come for me, Ky, come for me–_

Of course, Kylo fights it. Fights it as long as he can, wanting the bliss to teeter before they fall. It’s a torment, and Poe is sure he’s using the Force to keep them both from climaxing before he wants them to. Which is _fine with Poe_. He loves this moment before the end. Loves the knowledge of what’s to come, and that after… after they’ll have forever to cuddle and bask in the afterglow. This is them, now. Happy, free, in love. Maybe sex makes his mind go fuzzier, go mushy and romantic, but if it is to blame then he’ll just have to do it more. And more. And more.

The kiss breaks, and he pushes his forehead to Kylo’s. Their hair mingles between the broken gasps, and Kylo doesn’t even manage to get a word out as his climax hits. It washes through the bond like spilt water flooding through fabric, and Poe chokes at the sensation. The happy, contented, adoring pleasure and the way Kylo’s body grips him convulsively, makes the fucking sweeter still, spills hot and heady over his shirt. He lasts until Kylo _hisses_ out his name, putting sibilants where there are none, and then the pressure in his balls goes at once, a kick through the spine and kidneys towards his prick, flooding his lover’s body with the answer to his own. 

It’s just… it’s good. So good. So right. He pulls back to look at him - just enough to focus on his face - and his heart melts at the touch to his temple, to the side of his mouth.

“I don’t deserve you,” Kylo whispers.  


“You do,” Poe insists. “We deserve each other.” Bad and good.  


“Well. Now I’ve got you, I’m not letting go.”  


Poe grins, and kisses the fingers near his lips. “Me either, Ky.”

Even on the couch. Legs swing, and move, and then they’re curled in a tangle of limbs and pleasant exhaustion. Poe wraps his arms around his boyfriend, and Kylo strokes him as the exertion cools through their muscles. 

Things are looking up. Really up. Poe can take a few nightmares, when he wakes up and remembers what’s real: **them**. Them, and the hope of tomorrow. 

Yeah. Nightmares don’t stand a chance against that. When they’re together, they can take on anything. 


End file.
